During the journey, they had no complications. Lord Devan occasionally issued some complaint about his muscle aches from being tied to a horse, but they were silenced by Galfrido, who served as the lord's personal guard. His wounds didn't look any better. Begryn had heard talk of the nobles' intrigues, but she thought, in many cases, they were just stories from commoners to portray members of the upper castes as dishonorable and perverse beings. Now she realized that in many respects they were right. Lord Devan was a clear example of a conspiring noble. She couldn't wait to see that bastard Dromak and rub the letter in his face. She sighed and looked at Drako, who was sleeping peacefully.

  It would have been an excellent trip if they hadn't tried to kill them, but as had been happening for some time, nothing was easy.

  After two more days of travel, which were neither sunny nor pleasant, and in which the cold struck much harder, they saw the Frozen City... Trabarioth, from one of the hills of the Unicorn Fields. It stood imposingly in a valley, with huge, snow-covered rocky massifs surrounding it, leaving only a single entrance in the front. The light of the setting sun peeking through the clouds made it look like it was made of crystal. The towers rose high above the surrounding buildings, featuring blue roofs and white brickwork. They were still too far away to see it in more detail, but even so, they were amazed.

  "It's been a while since I've seen the city..." Anthos said, staring without blinking.

  "Me too," Kalen replied with the same gaze. "Looks like you earned those three hundred crowns, my friend."

  "Well, even if you stare at it like that, the city won't come to us," Galfrido remarked, starting to walk. "Let's go, I'm dying for a beer!"

  They started walking towards the largest city in the entire Dorlan region. They knew they had a few days of rest left. They knew that they still had to seek justice and overcome the enemies within. But what they also knew was that a massive and bloody battle was approaching against the forces of evil, one that would decide the dragon's fate, and with it, the fate of the whole world. Kalen looked up at the sky, trying to find some answers in the sun's orange rays, but the only things that crossed his mind were dark thoughts. Thoughts that told him the worst had yet to come.

  Even though the city looked close, they were still several kilometers away, so as night fell, they decided to camp on a small hill dotted with a few trees. The first to take watch was Anthos, who prepared the fire and made himself some tea. He put on his leather coat like a cloak, covering his back, leaving his crimson shirt with black stripes slightly open so it could dry a bit by the fire, damp from perspiration. He did the same with his green scarf.

  "I might be a bit tired from the journey," Anthos turned and saw Kalen sit down across from him, "but I would never refuse a good cup of tea at night, in front of a campfire."

  "Here you go, my friend."

  "Despite all our friction and... differences, I didn't want to leave without thanking you. You were outstanding, truly. Perhaps at one point we doubted your skill as a guide and even your loyalty, but you ended up being an invaluable ally."

  "I really appreciate your words," the guide said, taking the bowl of tea back. "It's an honor for me to be on this journey with you all. Besides, it's the first time I'm going to get paid so much money all at once," He smiled sarcastically.

  Kalen returned the smile, but immediately adopted a more serious demeanor. "When we were at the Watchtower, at the Thousand Roses Bridge, you said you would do anything to keep Drako safe. Is that true?"

  "I've never spoken more truthfully."

  "That's very noble of you... But allow me to ask you, why? You don't owe that child anything, or us, other than fulfilling your contract. Why this need to protect Drako by all means? You don't have to tell me, but there's something more, isn't there?"

  Anthos looked into Kalen's eyes for a second, and then fixed his gaze on the fire. The dancing figures began to create a kind of hypnotic trance in the guide, who started to be assailed by memories and feelings he had buried deep within his being.

  The heat of the Elbarie region was unbearable, especially for someone who had spent his short but tormented childhood on the streets of the Frozen City. Even after twelve years since he was captured and sold into slavery to the Nut family, Cédric hadn't gotten used to the hot climate. Akhram Nut, a nobleman who lived in the south of Elbarie, had bought his soul from slave traders back then. Some time ago, his village, Jaihmid, had been plundered, and they needed labor to rebuild it. Although he mostly bought strong men, the boy caught his attention, and he decided to acquire him too.

  Akhram belonged to a lineage of warriors skilled in the use of the saber, which traced back to an ancient Sha who had spent his last years in Jaihmid: Grumenur-Sha. An excellent swordsman who brought a large number of people and weapons with him into retirement and revived the almost uninhabited village. Elbarien stories tell that Grumenur also brought the palace blacksmith with him, who forged a dozen sabers for him to be used by the best duelists in the settlement, now turned into a city. Currently, little more than six of these swords remain. Two of them belonged to the Nut family.

  Shortly after acquiring the services of the boy from the neighboring region, Akhram began to realize that he was not an ordinary human. The speed of his learning in daily tasks, his shrewdness, and the grace of his movements led him to attempt a more martial instruction for him. Over the years, he finally granted him not only freedom but also made him his favorite apprentice. When cutting the chains of slavery, which by then were symbolic, lord Nut knew that a new man had been born and decided to give him a new name.

  "Anthos, that will be a good name for you, boy..." exclaimed the one who had once been his master.

  Freedom at that point didn't mean much to him, given that the family who had bought him had always made him feel like a part of it. Akhram and Sofía, his wife, lived in the Nut household, and a few months ago their firstborn had been born, whom, in honor of the Sha who brought prosperity to Jaihmid, they had named Grumenur.

  The desert landscape, the sand, and the scarcity of vegetation and water were already constant in Anthos's new life. The houses in the small city were constructed with materials that seemed to be of good quality. Their walls were dark and light brown in parts, with wooden openings and roofs of straw or wood, depending on the case or the owner's economic position. In many buildings, the flags of the Elbarie Shanate waved, bearing the golden sun and the triangle in the center, but with various background colors, usually light blue or orange.

  Anthos was in his sixteenth summer, and his training with the curved saber was almost complete. Nearly a decade had passed since he had arrived in the region, and never in his life had he known the tranquility and happiness with which he grew up in Elbarie. By now, Akhram was a father and a master to him.

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  "Up, boy, you'll learn something new today!" Nut bellowed as he pulled back the cane mats covering the windows where Anthos was resting. He was an aging man, but he still retained the vigor of a warrior. His complexion was dark, hardened by days and days of exposure to the Elbarien sun, though it was Caucasian in his youth. A thick white beard with black hints covered his face, the same color as his bushy eyebrows that protected his penetrating, dark green eyes. Although he was a few pounds overweight, somewhat far from optimal physical condition, his agility was astonishing and presented a challenge even to the most skilled warriors he had ever known.

  "Here," he said, throwing a pair of saddlebags at the foot of his bed. "Come on, today you have to test your training," Akhram concluded, leaving the room.

  The young man, not quite understanding, took the bundle tied at the ends and sprang up, following his master's footsteps. Once they left the house and were standing in the backyard under a radiant sun, Anthos looked at lord Nut, who stood facing him, waiting.

  "Alright... what's on the agenda today?" the apprentice asked. "Do I have to take this package to the market and come back before the sun moves? Do I have to do it jumping or while you shoot me with the crossbow?" Anthos continued, mocking the training sessions he received daily.

  "None of that, boy," Akhram replied. "Today, you'll have to engage in a formal duel for the first time. And you'll do it against me."

  Anthos's eyes widened, and he couldn't help his jaw dropping a few centimeters. For some years, lord Nut had sporadically made him face other duelists in the city, but only in casual encounters and with wooden sabers. The formal duel was only intended for those who held the Sha's blades, and that was not his case.

  "Open the saddlebag, Anthos," the master commanded him.

  Still not out of his amazement and tangled in his thoughts, Anthos knelt in the sand and placed the tied bundle his master had given him a moment ago in front of him. He untied the cords and unwrapped the saddlebag down to the last fold. As he removed it, he discovered an exquisite rapier with finishes that only one person could have forged. Such a work corresponded to a quality similar to the blade Akhram wielded: it was a Sha's blade.

  "Ak-Ahrimma," Akhram murmured.

  "I don't know what that means," Anthos replied.

  "'The Discreet Death,' that is its name. All Sha's blades have one, and this one is consistent with some of its properties... you'll find out why it's called that. In particular, Ak-Ahrimma belonged to an ancient lord of these lands who gifted it to me before he died. Now, I, Akhram Nut, give it to you, Anthos," he stated as he walked away.

  The boy was completely astonished. He took Ak-Ahrimma and placed it at his waist with its scabbard attached to his belt. He got up and began to follow Nut's footsteps, who was heading to the dueling square, walking with a slow and calm stride.

  The square was rectangular, had some seating, and didn't differ too much from the desert landscape surrounding the village. In the middle were two circular combat arenas, with the ground filled with gravel and small stones that interrupted the sandy dust and red earth of the rest of the place. Palm trees placed regularly largely delimited the entire area. Each combat area was about ten meters in diameter and displayed unlit torches around it. Surrounding the small square were some businesses and shops that sold everything from food to furniture or weapons. It could be said that this was the center of the city, and from here outwards were the majority of the houses and then a few plantations that operated with irrigation from a small stream, but were not very prosperous.

  Akhram walked into the nearest arena, leaving furrows with his sandals as he stepped on the gravel, positioned himself in the center, turned around, and stared at Anthos, who had remained outside the arena out of respect for his master.

  "It's time, boy," the veteran swordsman said as he extended his right hand, gripping his saber and pointing directly at his apprentice.

  He gathered all his courage, for Anthos knew it was time to become a duelist. He had dedicated a large part of his life to learning the art and had done so possibly with the best. But now he had to face him. While duels could or could not mean the death of the opponent or oneself, a first blood gave the victory. He knew that to win, he had to try to kill him. But how could he kill his own father? Was Nut going to try the same with him? The Elbarien bards and storytellers narrated and sang that the most ancient warriors of that land, at the moment of combat, managed to remove all kinds of emotions and bonds from their being, concentrating only on the final objective: victory. Especially those who practiced this type of discipline.

  The truth is, he was no ancient warrior, and he wasn't even Elbarien. He laughed to himself, swallowed, and stepped into the dueling circle. Without a word, he unsheathed his new sword and, gripping it, mimicked Akhram's gesture. His crossbow, loaded with a single bolt, rested on his back.

  Instantly, Lord Nut took a few steps forward and placed his left hand on his hip, bending his back knee and placing his front leg resting only on the ball of his foot, with almost no weight, lowering his center of gravity by a few centimeters. This was the basic rapier combat guard. Anthos copied the stance, only his free hand was open, imitating a kind of static wing. In these combats, both contestants could use a single shot from the small crossbow that they traditionally carried on their back—either to open the combat or to finish it. Wasting this weapon in the middle of the fight was penalized with defeat.

  "Let's see if you remember anything, little man!" the veteran exclaimed, just as he fired the crossbow with lightning speed using the hand resting on his waist.

  There was no time for analysis. Anthos had to use all his skill to dodge the bolt. He preemptively arched his back backward in case the simultaneous move he was about to make failed. He traced a small, imaginary circle in the air with Ak-Ahrimma, which deflected the projectile from its path. Curiously, if he hadn't arched his back, the bolt would have hit his dominant shoulder. Nut was not playing games.

  "Always have a safe passage," he whispered, as if he needed to remind himself.

  He regained his posture and charged at Akhram, who was still surprised at how his apprentice had deflected the shot. Each movement was a small jump forward, propelled by his base leg. His master deflected the attacks with little difficulty, retreating until he was almost on the edge of the circle. Anthos's last lunge was greedy, and Nut made him pay for it: with a swift movement, he deflected the thrust and delivered a hard blow with his forehead right to the middle of his nose, making him stagger back, his face dripping blood.

  Anthos, who was still in shock, did not expect this trickery from Akhram. He backed away without turning his back and positioned himself again in the middle of the circle. He wiped his face a bit with his shirt sleeve and took the combat stance. The sun hit Anthos's blue eyes head-on, forcing him to narrow them to a thin line on his face, which was reddened by the heat and the combat.

  "It's your turn now, old man," he bellowed at his master, inviting him to continue with a gesture.

  Akhram, visibly annoyed by what he had been called, launched into the attack once more. Some merchants wandering around the square closed their shops and approached the center to see what was happening. The metallic clanging of the rapiers echoed like thunder throughout the place. The spectacle was formidable. Akhram Nut, the city's undefeated duelist, was fighting with the one he called his son. The combat had stretched for several minutes now, and the contenders were noticeably fatigued. Neither was seriously injured, and only one crossbow bolt lay on the sand.

  At one point, Anthos tried a move to defeat Nut. He lunged, making a feint to the left to then block, pivot on his own axis, and launch a thrust directly at Akhram's abdomen. But the old fox was very clever. Even though the attack could have been fatal, Anthos thought Nut would never believe he would attempt a lethal blow. But he did, and his master was prepared for that too.

  He blocked the downward strike when he shifted to the left and immediately switched his saber to his other hand to block the thrust, with such brutality that Anthos's weapon flew through the air.

  "You're not ready!" Nut yelled as he delivered a spinning strike directly to Anthos's head with his non-dominant hand. If the attack had been with his dominant hand, Anthos would never have been able to dodge it. But it wasn't. The boy let himself fall down with the force of his own weight and simultaneously spun backward, doing a somersault. In that movement, he grabbed his crossbow and fired a shot that hit the palm of Akhram's hand, making him drop his weapon with a grunt of pain.